Ed made a point of telling Sir Charles it was imperative to make the public aware of Freedom’s Romany origins. If he were to be barred from any more hotels, there would be trouble and Ed doubted if he could control it.
From then on, Freedom made a point of mixing with black boxers in the gymnasiums and socializing with them in the bars and nightclubs. He felt an empathy with their segregation, and they in turn accepted him as one of them. They encouraged him and waited in line to act as sparring partners, and many of them should, by rights, have been put forward as contenders.
Ed sat in Freedom’s sparse room in the run-down hotel. Freedom had pulled the mattress from his bed and laid it on the floor to sleep. He was stretched out on it now, his head resting on a grubby pillow. Ed knew he was exhausted, but all the attention he had been getting pumped him full of adrenalin.
Freedom felt Ed’s eyes on him and turned with a smile. ‘You got a big paunch on you, Ed. Want to run round the clubs with me, do the Black Bottom. That’ll slim you down.’,
‘No I don’t, and you shouldn’t be out gallivantin’ wiv all sorts. I’m not a stickler, I know you gotta let off a bit of steam now an’ then, but keep it to a minimum. This isn’t all belly, neither — this is our cash, son. I don’t let it out of me sight fer a minute.’
Freedom laughed and told Ed he should take care on his way back to that posh hotel, joking that Ed might be robbed by some of his ‘black brothers’.
‘Never mind me, it’s you I’m bothered about, you need to rest up.’
Freedom stretched his arms above his head and sighed. ‘How many more times do they want me to show how good I am? I want Risco — I done my part, I’ve proved myself, I want Risco. So you get that fat body round to his Lordship and tell him I’m through waiting.’
‘I hear you, lad, but you remember I’m the trainer, don’t get too big fer yer boots or you’ll be leavin’ ‘em on the canvas … An’ stay in ternight, all right? No bloody Black Bottomin’.’
Ed clutched his belly all the way back to the hotel. He decided that perhaps it would be better if the winnings were put in the hotel safe. He counted all the dollar bills and stacked them in a neat pile. As always, Sir Charles had made Ed sign for the money when it was given to him. Ed now decided to ask him to arrange for its safekeeping.
That evening, Sir Charles watched as the money was put into the hotel safe. He suggested to Ed that he open a bank account, but Ed wouldn’t hear of it. He had never had much to do with banks, he didn’t even have an account back in England, having rarely had more than a pocketful of loose change to his name. Besides, most of the money belonged to Freedom. Another reason, which Ed did not mention to Sir Charles, was that Freedom was still barely able to write more than his own name. To give him a chequebook would only confuse the issue, and knowing his spendthrift ways it was better all round for the money to be kept out of generous hands.
Ed cabled Freda and Evelyne that all was well — more than well, they were inching closer and closer to the title. He did not mention that Freedom was becoming hard to handle. He wanted to get Freedom out of New York. Even though he still worked out in the gyms, he was hitting the booze, and many a morning he was too hung over to train. At last Ed got a call to meet with the Golden Triangle. It seemed they had some good news for him.
The fight with Johnny ‘Rubber-legs’ Risco was on. Ed wanted Freedom to rest for at least a month, but Dempsey laughed at him, saying that in the days when he was in the booths he fought three or four fights a week, and he knew Freedom was raring to go. Against his better judgement, Ed agreed. The publicity campaign for the Risco-Stubbs fight was under way.
Freedom was working out when Ed told him the Risco fight was going ahead. He belted hell out of the punchbag, then clasped Ed joyfully to his sweating body. Ed did not mention the hours he had spent arguing with Sir Charles that it was too soon, that Freedom needed more rest.
Sir Charles had organized Freedom’s match with Risco only three weeks after his win on points at Madison Square, but Ed gave Freedom no hint of his misgivings. Right now, Freedom was confident, even over-confident. ‘This is it, I get through with Risco, there’s just Sharkey and the German to go, that title’s getting closer.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Just remember Sharkey’s still number two contender. He’s already wiped out Risco, so he’ll be watching you like a hawk.’
Freedom went back to the punchbag with renewed energy. Ed sized him up. He reckoned Freedom could take Risco, but Sharkey would be another matter. Sharkey was lighter than Freedom, but he was said to be unstoppable. He would fight the winner of the Stubbs-Risco bout and, if Freedom won, he would be a very tired boxer.
Sharkey’s only obstacle to the vacant throne was the big German, Max Schmeling. He was Germany’s international champion and a formidable contender. Schmeling was already at the top in the betting. He and Sharkey had noted the meteoric rise of the gypsy fighter and, as Ed suspected, both men calculated that Freedom would be a very tired man. They booked ringside seats for the bout, which was to take place in Chicago and was already a sell-out. Rumours began to circulate; the Golden Triangle had an interest in the gypsy — tired he might be, but he was beginning to draw crowds. Freedom, at first a rank outsider, now featured in the last lap for the vacant throne. The running was still Schmeling first, Sharkey second, Risco third. Having done extremely well, Freedom was now placed fourth.
Freda and Evelyne felt cut off, waiting for the results. Both understood the importance of Freedom’s fight against Johnny ‘Rubber-legs’ Risco. Evelyne would stand at the gate of the villa for hours on end hoping the Western Union boy would bring her a message. She couldn’t sleep for worry.
Freda, who usually tried to keep Evelyne calm, almost induced a miscarriage by screaming at the top of her voice. ‘He’s here? He’s coming! Evie, Evie, he’s got a, telegram!’
Evelyne’s hands were shaking as she tore open the envelope. She read it, then closed her eyes. ‘He’s won, Freda, he’s won!’
It had taken sixteen rounds for Freedom to get Risco down on the canvas. Down and unable to bounce back. Freedom was tired but jubilant, and Ed was beside himself. The throne was closer — his boy was now placed third.
Sharkey and Schmeling were impressed, but Sharkey was still more than confident. If the gyppo was tired before the Risco fight, now he would be exhausted. He put pressure on his promoters to push his fight with Freedom forward.
Dempsey and his partners celebrated when they received the news. Rickard increased the publicity with Sir Charles right alongside him and not afraid, as Dempsey joked, ‘to get his hand outta his pocket’. Having been unsure to begin with, they now all believed there was a chance. They brought out the ‘big guns’ and set about designing posters. Their boy, they were sure, had the ‘Golden Glove’.
Chapter 24
ED was unusually quiet on the flight back to Miami. Freedom sat next to him, wearing dark glasses, his head resting on the back of his seat. He was exhausted.
Poor Ed had lost even more hair during their travels, forever worrying, and now he believed he had a gastric ulcer. Out of the corner of his eye, Freedom watched him take out a cigar, roll it in his fingers, put it back in his pocket and then take it out again. Fidget, fidget … Freedom laid his hand on Ed’s arm and quietly asked him the important question, ‘How long have I got, Ed?’
Ed stared out of the window, his stomach churning. He wasn’t sure whether it was the fight that caused it, or the realization that they had barely a month to prepare. Freedom hesitated only a moment when told. ‘Well, I said I wanted to fight, looks like Kearn and Rickard are coming up trumps.’